


Called out of love

by Tehri



Series: Memories of Home [9]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo doesn't mind his nickname, But he does mind when people laugh at it, Dwalin hates his, Gen, Mention of Bungo and Belladonna, Mention of Dís - Freeform, Nicknames, That one time Thorin found nicknames hilarious, Thorin finds it hilarious, really hates it, so many nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:24:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the entire company once again sitting together and smoking and speaking of everything and nothing, Bilbo felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. For one, they were all studiously avoiding any mention of the last leg of their journey, which Bilbo in particular felt was a little too much too soon. They had the chance to rest in Laketown, and that chance was, in Glóin’s words, worth “more than stumbling across a vein of gold in a muddy riverbank”.<br/>But how the conversation got steered towards petnames was a bit of a mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Called out of love

Bilbo had been fairly convinced that there wouldn’t be anything worse than Mirkwood on his journey. First the long march through the dark forest, then being accosted by giant spiders, and then being captured by the elves. It was a marvel that he’d managed to get everyone out at all. And that had still been pure luck. He could never have gotten such a chance again, to see the elf keeping the keys to the cells getting drunk out of his skull and falling asleep. Not to mention having found the way out.

Floating down the cold river while clinging to a barrel like a rat had not really been in his calculations, but it had been the only possibly way of getting out. He’d kept a close eye on the barrels near him before it got too dark to see, trying to figure out which ones held dwarves inside. Watching the barrels get tied together to form a raft hadn’t been in his calculations either, but it worked more or less the way he had wanted it to. The elves took them in the direction of Laketown, and that’s where they were now.

No one had really asked why the dwarves looked like drenched and half-starved beggars. Bilbo felt rather relieved about that, because how do you explain to someone that you had to stuff your friends into barrels, throw them in a river and nearly drown them, and then get the barrels open and get your friends out again? Not even the dwarves mentioned it, but seemed content to make as much of a fuss about Bilbo as the Men of the town made about them. And while it had been nice to actually be treated like someone who they admired, Bilbo rather wished that he could have spent their first week in the town in peace and quiet to battle the cold that wrecked his body.

But now, finally, he was feeling better. The headache was gone, he could breathe normally, and his throat didn’t feel like it was full of gravel, and he was no longer sneezing constantly. Which in turn meant that he could have a decent conversation with his companions, and ask about what was to come next.

 

With the entire company once again sitting together and smoking and speaking of everything and nothing, Bilbo felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. For one, they were all studiously avoiding any mention of the last leg of their journey, which Bilbo in particular felt was a little too much too soon. They had the chance to rest in Laketown, and that chance was, in Glóin’s words, worth “more than stumbling across a vein of gold in a muddy riverbank”.

But how the conversation got steered towards petnames was a bit of a mystery.

Bilbo spent a while trying to track the conversation back to the moment when they suddenly veered onto the subject, but gave up around the time Dwalin had threatened Balin with bodily harm if he brought up what they had been called by their parents.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Kili laughed, bringing Bilbo out of his reveries. “Really, Glóin? Your father called you _little flame_ of all things?”

The redheaded dwarf glared at the young prince and crossed his arms.

“I doubt you had a better one,” Glóin snapped. “What was it everyone called you? Little bird, wasn’t it?”

Kili immediately stopped laughing and shot a quick suspicious glare at his brother and uncle.

“Who told you that?” he demanded. “Only _amad_ ever called me that!”

“I used to,” Thorin hummed. “Though that was some time ago.”

“Traitorous uncle…”

“And I was not the one who told Glóin. I suppose he overheard Dís calling you that at some point.”

“Why did Fili get the good one?”

“Why, what’s Fili called, then?” Bofur asked curiously.

“Little lion,” Fili sighed. “I don’t know why Kili likes that one, it’s really not that good.”

“It sounds far better than little bird,” Kili grumbled. “Traitorous _amad_.”

“Don’t speak of your mother that way,” Thorin chided, more out of habit than anything else. “I rather doubt that she thought carefully of what to call either of you.”

Bofur grinned brightly and shrugged.

“I don’t know, yours doesn’t sound so bad, Kili,” he said. “My _amad_ just went with whatever came to mind, and apparently she thought that ‘chuckles’ was good enough since I laughed a lot.”

Bilbo’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“ _Chuckles_ ,” he repeated incredulously. “Your parents actually called you that?”

“Of course,” Bofur said proudly. “I was chuckles, Bombur was pumpkin, and Bifur…” He paused and peered at his cousin. “Oi, Bifur, what was it yours called you again?”

Bifur’s rumbled response made several of the dwarves grin and nod. Bilbo tilted his head.

“Ah, what exactly does that mean?” he asked.

“He said that they called him their little magpie,” Bombur replied, giving the hobbit a bright smile. “He used to hoard little shiny things to play with and to turn into toys when he was younger.”

Bilbo laughed. He’d heard enough ridiculous nicknames before to start thinking that they actually sounded rather sweet, and what his friends had been called didn’t sound very different to him.

“What about the rest of you?” he asked once his chuckles diminished. “I’m willing to bet you all had some sort of pet name.”

“Óin was called pebble,” Glóin said with a shrug. “Never really knew why, but that was it.”

“What rebel?” Óin asked gruffly, frowning at his brother. “What are you going on about?”

“Not rebel,” Glóin said, raising his voice to make himself heard. “ _Pebble_! You used to be called pebble when we were little!”

“Why are you bringing that up now?” the aged healer asked and raised an eyebrow at the redheaded dwarf, who groaned and shook his head.

Dori rolled his eyes at the exchange and turned to Bilbo.

“We always called Ori ‘little scribe’ when he was younger,” the silverhaired dwarf said. “It was clear from the start what he would do with his life, so it made sense.”

Ori blushed and nodded.

“I always did like books,” he said softly. “And I started working with Balin early.”

“What about Nori, then?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“Cleverfingers,” Nori said brightly.

“Cleverfingers…?”

“Oh yes, master Baggins. Go ahead and guess why.”

“I think I know. Do give back that pouch, would you.”

“Ah, you noticed!”

Bilbo smirked as Nori handed back his tobacco pouch.

“Well,” the hobbit drawled as he leant back again. “What about you, Dori?”

Dori hummed thoughtfully and tilted his head.

“I haven’t thought of this for some years,” he admitted. “But I believe our mother used to call me… Ah, it’s in Khuzdul, but easily translated… She simply called me bear, I believe.”

Dwalin bristled at this and shot a quick glare at Balin, who looked absurdly smug for some reason.

“I swear, brother,” Dwalin snarled. “If you say _a single word_ -“

“Perhaps the bear is looking after the wrong cub,” Balin joked, quickly moving out of Dwalin’s reach as the larger dwarf attempted to grab his collar. “Don’t you think so, bearcub?”

Dwalin let out a roar of frustration as the rest of the company burst into laughter.

“ _Bearcub_ ”, Bilbo gasped between fits of laughter. “Oh, no, please tell me this is a bad joke!”

“It’s not,” Thorin snorted. “I’d nearly forgotten, but Fundin had no idea what he was doing when he decided to call Dwalin that.”

Dori looked decidedly uncomfortable and cautiously scooted a little further away from Dwalin.

“You do know that I had no part in this, I hope,” he said slowly.

“Of course he does,” Balin chuckled. “He simply doesn’t like being called a cub.”

“At the very least I wasn’t given mine because people have an annoying tendency to believe every sodding thing I say, even if I lie through my teeth,” Dwalin grumbled and crossed his arms. “Silvertongue is a little too fitting for you, brother.”

Balin shrugged and shot his brother a bright grin.

“Far be it from me to deny my nature,” he said. “At least mine fits.”

Sniggers still escaped several of the dwarves, and Dwalin glared at them for a moment. He seemed rather determined to take attention away from himself, and finally pointed at Thorin.

“Little stormcloud,” he said simply.

Those words were apparently more than enough to make the company burst into laughter yet again. Thorin merely smiled at his old friend.

“If you aimed to make me feel uncomfortable, I’m afraid you’ve failed,” the dark-haired dwarf chuckled. “I’ve nothing against what my mother used to call me.”

“Wait, you mean he was always so grumpy?” Kili blurted, quickly ducking to avoid a swat to the back of his head. Balin and Dwalin, now sporting identical wide grins, nodded in response, and of course set everyone off again.

Bilbo, in the midst of his laughter, failed to notice how the others turned their eyes on him. Once his chuckles quieted down and he glanced around, however, he found himself faced with thirteen grinning dwarves.

“Well then, master Baggins,” said Thorin calmly. “What about you?”

“Yes, what about you, Bilbo?” Fili asked, scooting closer to the hobbit and putting an arm around his shoulders. “What sort of embarrassing names were you given as a child?”

For a moment it looked as though Bilbo was about to give an answer. Then a strange look passed over his face, a mix of embarrassment and confusion, and he shook his head briskly.

“No, I think you’ve had enough fun at my expense,” he grumbled.

“Is it something that embarrassing?” Kili asked with a wide grin. “Something so terrible that you don’t even want to think about it?”

“No, but you will laugh at me,” Bilbo huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at his friends. “I know you lot well by now, and I know that the moment I tell you, you’ll all laugh.”

“You’ve been laughing at us,” Bofur pointed out, ever so helpfully. “Don’t you think it’s only fair if we get our share of amusement?”

“Not a chance,” the hobbit snapped. “You lot had your time making fun of me.”

“Which you gave back, and doubly so,” Thorin chuckled. “Come now, master Baggins, out with it.”

There was a good deal of grumbling from Bilbo, who kept glaring at his grinning companions without actually giving them an answer. The dwarves began to try to guess, and their guesses involved the rudest possible things that had the poor hobbit sputtering and groaning and snapping at them to stay quiet. After a particularly bad one from Dwalin, Bilbo finally caved.

“Little bunny,” he said loudly, cutting off Glóin’s next guess. “My mother and father called me their little bunny. There. Are you happy now?”

Heavy silence followed his outburst, until finally Thorin snorted, grin firmly back in place, and began to shake with held back laughter.

“You’re joking,” Fili said slowly. “That’s what Beorn called you.”

“I am in fact not joking at all,” Bilbo grumbled. “My parents did call me that, and believe me, it never stopped. To them, I was their little bunny, no matter how old I got. And yes, Beorn called me that as well, and I’ve no clue about why.”

“Descended from bunnies,” Thorin managed to choke out before his laughter reached full volume. “You joked about hobbits being descended from bunnies!”

“That is completely unrelated,” Bilbo snapped.

By now, the rest of the company had started laughing as well.

“Perhaps it’s because you look like one,” Nori supplied helpfully, reaching out to pat the sulking hobbit on the shoulder. “Tiny and soft and with big furry feet.”

“These big furry feet will be very well acquainted with your face if you do not stop teasing me,” Bilbo hissed. “See? I knew you’d all laugh!”

“Descended from bunnies,” Thorin chuckled again. “Durin’s beard, please do not tell me that there was some truth to that story after all!”

 

It was already quite late; Bilbo was well aware of it, but sleep simply would not come to him. Truth be told, his mind was full of anxiety over the last leg of their journey. The dwarves did not seem at all bothered, if their loud snoring was anything to go by. But the poor hobbit sat curled up by the fire, with his pipe in his mouth and with thoughts about the mountain spinning in his head. And distracted as he was, Bilbo didn’t notice Thorin approaching him until a large hand patted his shoulder and made him inhale and choke on the smoke. Thorin sat beside him, waiting in silence for the hobbit to stop coughing.

“You need to consider a better approach,” Bilbo finally gasped, clearing his throat once more. “Or do you want me to choke before we reach the mountain?”

“Hardly,” Thorin said quietly. “That would be quite an unfortunate turn of events.”

Bilbo peered searchingly at the dark-haired dwarf.

“Well then, I suppose sleep eludes you too,” he stated. “Why else are you trying to make me choke?”

Thorin chuckled and shook his head. Bilbo couldn’t help but smile at him; it was a relief to see the regal dwarf so relaxed, whenever it happened. As glum as he had been at the start of their journey, he had warmed to the hobbit little by little, which in turn was quite a relief to Bilbo. He didn’t feel the need to worry about what the dwarf actually thought.

“I am sorry if we offended you earlier,” Thorin stated suddenly. “None of it was meant as an insult, but if it was taken as such…”

“I know you lot well enough by now,” Bilbo replied easily. “I’m well aware you meant it all in jest. Though I do wish some of you would think a little before speaking.”

The dwarf nodded, looking quite regretful.

“Aye, we should,” he said with a sigh. “I am sorry, Bilbo. I’ve not felt so at ease for some time. It must’ve gone to my head.”

“And here you are, thinking that I’m truly offended,” Bilbo chuckled. “For goodness’ sake, Thorin, I just told you, I know it was meant in good fun. And of course I know that it’s a bit ridiculous that Beorn guessed that pet name without even meaning to.”

Thorin peered at him, a smile finally wiping away the regretful look on his face.

“Nori might have been on to something,” he suggested airily. “Tiny and soft with big furry feet. All that’s missing would be the ears and a little tail.”

Bilbo snorted and began to giggle softly to himself as he tried to imagine just what he would look like.

“If that’s why my parents chose that name for me, then I should have feared for their sanity long ago,” he snickered.

“Join me in fearing for my sister’s sanity instead,” Thorin grinned. “Fili’s I understand, but Kili’s? It’s been determined several times that he cannot fly, and he’s certainly not the best singer either.”

“Well, after good experience with numerous relatives and their children, I’ve concluded that pet names are simply not always meant to make sense,” Bilbo said between chuckles. “Though I’m sure one would have had to explain that to the Tooks, they chose rather fitting names most of the time.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“Well, for instance, my uncle Isumbras was simply known as ‘that little vandal’ when he was a child.” Bilbo grinned brightly. “He earned that by managing to break almost anything people told him not to touch or not to break. Of course he was mightily offended, because he never _meant_ to break them. Just poor impulse control.”

“Like Kili, then,” Thorin chuckled. “Though, of course, Kili can be kept under control.”

“That didn’t work with uncle,” Bilbo sighed. “He was always like that, even when he was getting on in years. He still laughed when he talked about how he very nearly broke my da’s arm the first time he heard that mum had her eyes set on him. He’d make improper jokes just to see people sputter and blush.”

“Then perhaps we should hope that wherever ‘that little vandal’ is now, he still has not changed.”

“Wherever he is now, he’ll be bothering everyone. And giving grandfather an eternal headache.”

“You ought to be more respectful to your poor old uncle, little bunny.”

“I’m fairly certain he’d laugh and clap me on the back for my disrespect, King Grump.”

“King Grump?”

“That’s you. I thought you needed something else than ‘little stormcloud’”.

“And that’s the best you could think of? I’m offended.”

“Well, I considered something definitely rude, but I like my head where it is.”

“If it’s truly so bad, then please, don’t tell me. I’d prefer it if you were still alive when we reach the mountain.”

**Author's Note:**

> This one got away from me too. So many nicknames, so difficult to string this one together. But I wanted Thorin to be a bit more relaxed than previously, showing a bit more confidence and being more comfortable with his companions.  
> For the record, I have so many damn headcanons about Bilbo's aunts and uncles like you wouldn't believe, and Isumbras has become something of a favourite of mine.


End file.
